


Those Pesky Little Red Bugs

by castiello



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Exasperated Lisbon, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Naughty Jane, POV Lisbon, Season 3, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiello/pseuds/castiello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let Jane play with fire. Ever. Set in Season 3, post-Bloodhounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Pesky Little Red Bugs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "The Mentalist" or any of its wonderful, sometimes naughty characters. The only thing I gain from writing about them is joy. Lots and lots of joy.
> 
> A/N: Written for the Jello-Forever February 2011 Challenge. Prompt: Candlelight/Flame.

Lisbon saw him coming, and a red flag went up.

On any other day, she would've been glad to see Jane staying in the office, rather than retreating to his attic cave. But today, they had just closed the Lancet case.

Jane did not like the Lancet case. He was unhappy about how it had been "handled."

Jane had been expressing his unhappiness all day long.

Vocally. Loudly. Repeatedly. To anyone within earshot.

And now, if Lisbon's fears were correct, he was coming to further make his displeasure known by annoying her while she tried to finish up the case paperwork.

As usual, Jane entered her office without knocking. He strolled over to the desk and glanced at the file in her hands.

"That the Lancet case?"

"Yep."

"Ah," was all he said. For now. He began to wander the office, palms patting an absent rhythm against his vest.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Just stopped by to chat. You know, shoot the breeze. Chew the fat. Pass the time."

"Ah," was all she said. For now.

There was a brown paper shopping bag on the floor behind Lisbon's desk. Jane, predictably, noticed the bag. And, unable to help himself, went to go look inside.

"Someone's having a birthday party," he commented. "An outdoor birthday party." Jane leaned further down, until his head was practically inside the bag. "A young someone. A young _male_ someone. Your…nephew." He glanced up at her.

"He turns four this Sunday," Lisbon confirmed.

Jane looked back inside the bag. "Well, it's sure to be a great party. Can't go wrong with Buzz Lightyear noisemakers…"

Lisbon smiled faintly.

Jane fished a citronella candle out of the bag and stood up. "I've always wondered, though, if these things really work…"

Lisbon shrugged and turned back to her case file. "My brother asked me to bring those. I don't know if they actually keep the mosquitoes away – I've never used one before."

"So, it could all be a scam," Jane said, turning the candle over in his hands, squinting suspiciously at the fine print on the label. "This little light might have no power whatsoever to repel those pesky red insects."

"Mosquitoes aren't red," Lisbon pointed out.

"They are after they've finished feasting on your blood. Vile, greedy creatures. They're the vampires of the insect world."

"Other insects drink blood, Jane."

"Not like mosquitoes," he insisted. "They revel in it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Mosquitoes revel?"

"Clearly. You don't see deer flies running around spreading things like West Nile Virus and Heartworm Disease…Mosquitoes are a threat to man and beast alike, Lisbon. And the companies that make _these_ —" He held up the candle "—and all those foul chemical sprays, they know that. They're like vampires themselves, preying on our fears of contracting blood-borne pathogens, cashing in on our desires to be…not itchy."

Lisbon's lips twitched. She managed to keep a straight face. "But Jane, what if the candles and sprays actually work? What if they _do_ reduce our chances of getting sick? Or itchy?" she added.

"Doesn't mean the companies are innocent; who's to say they didn't create the problem in the first place?"

Lisbon arched an eyebrow. " _OFF!_ created mosquitoes?"

"No, but maybe _OFF!_ released a batch of West Nile-infected mosquitoes whenever there was a sales slump, or else just dug until they found some isolated cases and used their contacts in the media to build it up as a major outbreak. The power of suggestion, Lisbon. The power of _fear_."

She shook her head. "You are a conspiracy nut."

For some reason, this seemed to wound him. Lisbon had no idea why it should; it was easily the least insulting thing she'd called him all day.

"Some conspiracies are real," Jane told her quietly, his eyes dark and for a moment much too serious.

"Anyway," he went on, recovering, "we're getting ahead of ourselves. We don't even know if the candle works. What we need to do, is a test." He placed the citronella candle on her desk with a magician's flourish and then waited expectantly.

Lisbon felt her shoulders droop. "Right now?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Is there any other time?"

She put her hands up in surrender. "You know what? If it'll keep you entertained while I finish this report, then please, by all means."

Jane grinned and began gleefully, _loudly_ ripping plastic wrap off the candle.

Lisbon sighed.

Jane's eyes danced like blue flames. He balled up the plastic packaging and sent it sailing over the desk in a perfect arc. The ball landed, predictably, right in her waste basket.

Jane wiggled his fingers. He reached into his right vest pocket and plucked out a matchbook from the motel where they'd stayed during the investigation _before_ the Lancet case – which, unfortunately, told Lisbon exactly how often he actually went home to get fresh clothing.

Jane peeled off a match and was on the point of striking it when another red flag went up:

_Jane, plus matches – probably not a good idea._

"I'll light it," Lisbon said quickly.

He happily handed over both match and book.

One quick scrape, a spray of sparks, and it was over – the candle was safely lit and the extinguished match was cooling in Lisbon's empty coffee mug.

For a few minutes, Jane seemed content to just watch the little fire swaying merrily in the center of the desk. Occasionally, he'd reach out to run his hand back and forth through the flame, letting the heat lick his fingers.

The light was bright and pleasant. The scent, on the other hand, was strong, medicine-like, and not-so-pleasant.

Lisbon actually got a few lines done on her report before Jane inhaled deeply and declared, "Oh, yeah…That's powerful. That's the stuff…"

Lisbon made a face to indicate what she thought of the smell.

Jane smiled. "Shall we crack a few windows, then? See if any pesky little red bugs fly in?"

"Oh, there's no need for that – I can already tell it doesn't work."

"How?" Jane asked.

She smiled sweetly at him. "There's a very _big_ pesky bug still in here."

He cocked his head and pointed a finger at her, smiling wider. "Oh, that's good. I like it. Very witty. But, you know…all this talk about fire and flames and whether candles work has actually brought a more important question to my attention. A _bigger_ question."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Jane's eyes gleamed. "Does the sprinkler system in this building work?"

_REDFLAGREDFLAGREDFLAG—_

"Jane—" She made a wild lunge for the candle, but he beat her to it, snatching it up and out of reach so that her fingers closed on empty air.

The flame guttered frantically as Jane backed away, a wicked grin on his face.

Lisbon's eyes flashed a warning. "Jane, don't you dare..."

She started moving around the desk as Jane climbed, shoes and all, onto her brand new white couch. Lisbon held her arms up in a placating gesture, like she was trying to diffuse a hostage situation. "Jane, give me the candle…"

Jane just stood there, grinning like the devil she sometimes believed he might actually be.

" _Jane…_ "

Jane grinned even wider. And, unable to help himself, thrust the flame right under the nearest sprinkler.

" _Jane!_ " she shrieked, "Get that—"

Water jetted from the sprinkler above Jane's head.

And the one above Lisbon's desk.

And, judging by the yells from outside (and Van Pelt's distinctive squeal), probably every sprinkler on the whole floor.

Jane turned in a joyous, wobbly circle under the spray. "Lisbon, look – it's raining indoors! Oh, that's cold! That's wet!"

Rigsby burst into the office, looking wild-eyed and clutching a bright red extinguisher. "Where's the fire?"

"There's no fire!" Lisbon had to yell to be heard over the commotion outside. "It's a false alarm!"

Rigsby kept the fire extinguisher poised, as though he still very much wanted to douse something. Lisbon very much did _not_ want her office to smell like citronella, wet couch _and_ fire foam.

"It's fine!" she reiterated. "False alarm! Do you know how to shut these off?"

Rigsby nodded. "I'm on it!" And he raced back out into the main office, red canister in hand.

Jane was still standing on the couch, laughing and taking water to the face.

Lisbon slapped a wet hand to her wet forehead and groaned.

Less than a minute later, Jane's self-induced indoor rainstorm ceased. He climbed down from the couch, smiling and dripping and breathless.

Cho's head poked in the doorway. "You guys all right?"

"We're fine," Lisbon told him wearily.

"Right as rain!" Jane added.

"Okay. Good." Cho's head disappeared from the doorway.

Jane busied himself trying to shake the water out of his hair.

Lisbon folded her arms and glared at him. "I can't believe you did that."

"Oh, come on. I performed a public service. Think about it: wouldn't you rather have the sprinklers work when you don't need them, than _not_ work when you do? Now we know they work…"

"The question is, will _you_ still work here come Monday, once Hightower and Bertram find out about this?"

Jane scoffed. "They should be thanking me. If the state found out CBI hadn't done its mandatory, six-month check of the sprinkler systems in _years_ , Hightower and Bertram could lose _their_ jobs. That kind of neglect is shameful, Lisbon. In fact, it's criminal – much like the way Carter Lancet was allowed to—"

" _Jane…_ "

He held up his hands. "I'm just saying."

" _Don't_ ," she warned. "And anyway, how do you know the system hasn't been tested in years?"

He shrugged. "Maintenance sticker on the fire extinguisher in the men's bathroom. Last inspected August ninth, two-thousand-eight, initialed 'JMK.' Two-thousand- _eight_ , Lisbon."

She sighed. "Jane, that still doesn't justify…"

"Meh. Justification is in the eye of the beholder." Jane splashed over to the desk and set the now very extinguished citronella candle next to Lisbon's coffee mug. "Uh-oh," he said suddenly. "That's unfortunate…"

"What?"

Jane peeled a file off her desktop and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. The packet of papers hung there like thick salami. A rapid stream of drips kamikazed off the bottom corner, and the ink on the front page looked like it was crying.

Lisbon stepped closer. It was the Lancet file.

Growling, she yanked it from his hand and tried to flip through the pages. They were stuck together. She gave up and tossed the file back on the desk, where it landed with a wet smack next to another, drier file. Lisbon read the label on this second file. Her eyes lit up.

"You're right," she said slowly. "That _is_ unfortunate. It'll take hours for me to redo all that paperwork. What an unlucky break…" Lisbon picked up the dry file and fought to hold onto her poker face as she turned to look at Jane. "It was lucky for _you_ , though."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes, see, it just so happens that the Lancet file was in the perfect position to shield these incident reports." She held up the packet. "You know, the ones I've been asking you to fill out and sign for the last two months?"

His face froze a little.

"It's funny, because every time I try to give them to you, you seem to disappear. But, luckily enough, here you are, and here they are, and they're perfectly dry. Go on, feel—"

She extended the file toward him.

Jane took an involuntary step back, as though the reports were a bloated, five-day-old corpse.

"Problem?" Lisbon asked meekly.

"Uh, no. Not at all…" Jane's eyes were frantically scanning the room, no doubt searching for an emergency exit hatch.

"I've put paperclips on all the sections you need to sign."

"Good. Excellent. I can't wait to get cracking…Oh, would you look at that?" Jane suddenly pointed to a spot on his vest and made an exaggerated face of dismay. "Citronella wax. Right on my vest. My favorite vest."

"I don't see anything."

He started backing away, toward the open door. "Oh, it's there, Lisbon. It's there, and even as we speak the oil is setting. It's _staining_."

Jane made it over the threshold, still backing. "I should go put some soap on this…Or maybe some club soda…Does anyone know what gets out citronella?"

Lisbon watched from the office doorway as Jane merged seamlessly into the crowd of wet, grumpy-faced agents.

"Cho!" she heard him sing, right before those drenched blond curls slipped out of sight. "Oh, _Cho_!"

As the consultant's voice faded out, Lisbon glanced around her now-silent, miraculously Jane-free office, then down at the incident reports still in her hand. She grinned to herself.

It looked like she'd found some bug repellent after all.


End file.
